The Biomedical Engineer and Synchronicity

January 12, 2021 — 1 Comment

Lovers Diary VIII,

The Biomedical Engineer and Synchronicity

I seem to have an affinity for engineers like collecting Pokemon cards. I adore them and they like me too. The biggest chatterboxes I’ve known, which I love, hard working, into the cliché romance performance I find ravishing, and they are loyal. I can assume if we are seeing each other, that’s that. Well, #2 to work, and that’s fine. They also do not let up until they get your attention in some subtle, coming at it from the sides innocent tactic, I’ve experienced at least. I used to pop into tinder for a day or two once or twice a year if I didn’t have a boyfriend, find what I like and delete my profile. I was not into the biomedical engineer, at all, he had terrible photos, which isn’t surprising, and a bare profile. I love nerds, but in general many nerds don’t know how to present themselves for dating. I’m usually the one bulldozing into their life, okay you’re my boyfriend now. This one was different in that he was relentless. Which I like.

One time he showed up, unannounced at my front door. All 6’4 covered in fiber glass from work just to say hello. “I was driving by and I saw you at the window!” He couldn’t hug me properly, I didn’t understand. Until later that day my leg was covered in shards from the pieces of fiber glass. I have very sensitive skin and scar easily. It was horrible. It took months to heal properly. He took me to Butchard Gardens and took pictures of us. He took me to the most magical, weird hidden park bursting with the most beautiful blooms. We both love flowers. I wish we had had sex there. He took pictures there as well with my dog. I come across the pictures sometimes and can’t bring myself to delete them.

He would jog from his place down the road just to meet me at the bus stop to his place. He was into mountaineering and fit as fuck because of that and rock climbing in general. With strength like that, many sexual positions are available and the sexual athleticism is a fabulous afternoon. He had glasses, which many guys I’ve dated seem to have. I made a cheesy picnic for him on my large balcony and we watched a movie he loved, which I came to enjoy too. We had the kind of naughty, discreet sex while your roommates are asleep, but could come to the kitchen and see you fucking at any moment type date. Warm in blankets with me on top of him and very muffled among the darkness and tea light candles. He had a tattoo that said “strength” on his sculpted pectoral, but facing him so he could see it and I would trace my fingers across it while on top of him. He could have been a model. He liked spoken word poetry, I love poetry too.

We went out to dinner with my best friend who is always my psychic other half and confidant. She is always right and I never fucking listen, even after a decade. He would wash his hands before a meal and was very proper for someone who grew up redneck. It seemed like a weird dichotomy. He told me I would be an amazing teacher. I was floored someone would say that, because at the time I didn’t believe it, he told me I would be a great mother.

Except, that same night, he had a couple sips of beer left. I have a habit of eating or drinking parts of someone’s food if I am really into them. I used to sit on my daddy’s lap and do the same as a bb. It is a great form of affection from me. I drank a sip of his beer and he freaked out at me. I said we could order another. “No, there was the perfect amount left in that glass”, he said. I was too bubbly to notice how weird that was until I told my best friend who hated that interaction.

He always wore baggy clothes, you would never know he had a sculpted body unless looking at his forearms. I loved his home, I pass it every week on the bus, it suited him impeccably. He had good taste in decorating, Upstairs was a loft type space, woodsy, a bed so very inviting. Climbing a wooden ladder to escape to the comfort. A mirror across from us and I would sit down, soon my legs spread eagle and him hugging me and fucking me. He would cook and I would sit and write on his scrap graph paper he always had everywhere. He was organized, clean, tidy and had a bunch of books and plants. The space was vintage, with a balcony bigger than the living room and kitchen.

Our time was transient, he got a job offer soon after finishing his Ph.D, a job in the bigger city at UBC in exactly what he wanted and would have to move away. My friends were upset how everything went down, I absolutely unhinged a bit temporarily. He got me into Neroche, which became one of my top favourite artists for a few years now. At the time I was between cities, living here, travelling twice a week to the bigger city. Ferries are a drag that often with the bus and walking, but I did it for two years. The first time we met, he flipped a pretty charming segue into picking me up from the ferry, the last one late at night. He had been looking for an opportunity to meet me, and captured it. I said yes. In the car he turned on an artist, “I think you will really love this music”. Yeah, okay.

Except, yeah. It speaks to my soul deeply. I used to listen to it everyday for a couple years. I still listen to Neroche often. Tryptamine is my favourite album. Maybe coincidence, maybe not that he knew me so well. We didn’t end well, but I left with parts of my soul I needed back. Maybe that’s why it caused a lot of pain, I was also going through the beginning phases of my sleep disorder medication and routine. Experiencing a lot of episodes and depression. He was focused on work and whatever else. He was into tarot, which I found bizarre for someone involved in his areas to be into. I have been into it half my life. I struggled off and on validating why it meant anything to me. He believed in it. I began tarot again and I don’t do it often, it has a special place in me. I just don’t deny what I use it for or what I believe in anymore.

He would rub oil on me and enter from behind with a grace and allure I haven’t met in many. I don’t think he had been with many girls, but we had extreme chemistry.

Songs would come on both of us had an affinity to, he would think I slipped something onto his player. “No, why do you have this song? I love this song too.” Songs I had not told him I loved.

I found out from weird feelings he had two fb accounts. Under two completely different names. I got vindictive and reported one, it got reinstated though. There was always a lingering something, something not being told. He acted very different on the one account from the other. A person I did not recognize in character. I could see the public posts and he didn’t know I knew about it. I apologized a couple years later for acting crazy. Except, now I wish I hadn’t of apologized because I do think I was reacting to something weird untold. Albeit, really reacting. I’ve learned a lot since then in how someone acts and their vibes. Regardless, I don’t take back the fierce sex, the Neroche or tarot. I’ve learned from a few experiences now if I even get the feeling I need to snoop, I am just leaving.

I don’t intend to speak to him again.

Loneliness

December 17, 2020

Yes, I am aware I used to be a serial monogamist. As to why, I think coping in having a narcissistic mother and the disassociated loss, while feeling lost you can feel while not realizing how long you have been gaslit by the supposed ultimate figure of unconditional love. Luckily, my daddy is very loving and amazing. Else, I think i’d likely be a sociopath.

My mother was mostly raised by her grandmother and never met her dad. I never, ever wanted to spread my DNA because it meant spreading my mother’s genetics. My parents didn’t know I had a baby as I moved to another province in my usual run away pattern, my friend’s mother took care of me. I moved back with Mr. Baby at two weeks old. The road trip sucked. My friend’s mother was surprised I was able to pack everything into the car. I wasn’t. I had done this before when I moved off the island several years ago last notice to work, school, friends, and family. Three months after coming back to BC, my parents accidentally found out I had a baby. My dad loves Mr. Baby, seeing him around him reminds me of my own childhood. Further solidifying I temporarily forgot what my childhood was like through the blur of chaos over the years. What did become even clearer was my mom’s narcissism and my ability to consciously navigate it without constantly being triggered.

I probably should have become a mother fairly young, like 21, but I resisted it. Instead, I complained how lonely I was. I found evaporating intimacy. Fake intimacy. Toxic intimacy. Fantasy intimacy. It took me many years to even unravel the surface of this. I was disciplined in taking my pill, getting an IUD, tracking my ovulation cycle and period cycle since 15. Until I let my guard down in vulnerability and trusted my now baby daddy to respect me instead of trusting my commitment to myself. Maybe if I hadn’t of resisted what I truly wanted in life it wouldn’t have unfolded in such a shitty sequence of events. That seems to be a thing.

Side note, guys if you choose to cum inside a girl unprotected you are choosing her to be a baby mama candidate. If you don’t want that, check the many other spots you can cum on versus a selfish three seconds of warmth inside of her. Also, if a girl tells you not to cum inside of her. They literally mean, do not cum inside. No. Means. No. A person half awake or half conscious is not consensual. Fuck you.

I wish I could have figured it out sooner. I found grown man children with no respect for me and their own mommy issues. I found stable loving men and left them.

Nothing scared me more in the world than pregnancy or giving birth. It still does.

It sucks to feel like a cliche in that I didn’t feel whole until having a baby, nor do I believe in maternal instinct is innate as backed by Anthropological research. My loneliness evaporated. While I also look forward to Mr. baby one day growing up, moving out, just the fact he exists is all I needed.

During my first trimester I had just signed a lease for a year of a place downtown for $2,500 a month. I would go to work part-time which took all my energy. I would go to the store for cravings alone. Baby daddy visited twice ten minutes once, twenty minutes another time. Last minute drop ins. I packed my place with some help from a friend and her husband. Went to my doctor appointments alone. Got my bloodwork done alone. The ultrasounds alone. That stupid 3 hour blood sugar blood test alone. Drove the uhaul to move four hours away alone. All my friends worked in the film industry or multiple jobs so I didn’t get to see them often. Got a nasty five week cold that left me so weak I could barely lift a bag of groceries. I walked home alone from work at 1am and counted the long minutes. Someone screamed at me one night I was a fucking cunt that should die after he asked me the time and I softly said, “I don’t know”. “But you’re holding your phone!!! You fucking cunt I hope you get hit by a car and die!!!” I was so focused on each breath of energy to walk home I didn’t notice I had even been holding my phone.

I moved my cat to a friend’s place as she was going nuts. She destroyed the furniture in my furnished place and I lost the pet deposit and deposit. I navigated harassment from my abusive ex I had run away from in the summertime. Luckily he never found out I was pregnant as a way to threaten me as I truly was vulnerable and weakened. I navigated all the people he tried to get to find me or message me. Now, winter time and cold rain steady each day, I began Pokemon Go again to walk more. I walked when I could, aware of my surroundings and his frequented neighbourhoods and what my own routines were he may be trying to track still. I listened to the drama at work and slept as much as I could. I avoided them even more than usual while trying not to arise gossip. The girls didn’t know. They found out after I quit what seemed unpredictable and unexpected. I watched many movies alone. Talked to myself, or well Mr. Baby. I cried most nights. In hysterics. Screaming. Sobbing. Hours of crying each night. I would sit in my bed scream crying as loud as I could wailing or pacing around my living room crying and dancing. I watched horror xmas films. I slept on a friend’s couch and took the four hour commute to my doctor appointments. I took slutty pictures to maybe sell one day as pregnancy might be a fetish. I bought a webcam. I spent hours and hours and hours looking at names. I spent just as much time looking for resources, free baby stuff and services. My chihuahua always slept beside my bump. Warm and protective.

I was alone during my first trimester in winter 2018 before moving into a friend’s place in my second trimester on the island with her husband and two children where I would take two buses 1-1.5 hour commute to work, and then another friend’s mom bought me food and my vitamins which felt like life and death importance to me was my commitment to take the natal vitamins. Then just before third trimester I moved to another province, to get away from stress because I strongly believe in calmness during pregnancy. I took welfare and my friend’s mom fed me very well. I used my air miles to take a plane with my dog to a place I never wanted to be. Lacombe. I spent my savings on baby clothes, bottles, the dozens of things you need or want for a baby. I got many many things free or cheap as Lacombe has tons of children. I spent a day in bible camp along the way in a trailer with crappy wifi. 12 hour drive. Then a break staying at someone’s house for two days. Four hour drive. Then a ferry. More driving. Home to where I am now. Unpacking for what felt like years. Going back to work six weeks postpartum.

I was the most alone I have ever been in the first trimester, but for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel alone. I have great sympathy for the loneliness many people feel during this pandemic. While I have not felt lonely during the pandemic, I can relate to when I was lonely and alone. 

I do believe certain people belong in each of our lives. Whether that person manifests as a best friend, soul mate, friend, boss, co-worker, partner, or in my case,

a baby boy.

Cum on my Foot

December 8, 2020 — Leave a comment

I moved away from my beloved toxic bigger city to calm the fuck down a little bit. Party girl be party girl though and hop on that ferry, off to the weekend shenanigans. Fashion party, that reliable big sister best friend, here we are at who? I forget. Someone’s birthday  party at some club where everybody is important, because that is how the city runs. If everybody is important, who isn’t then? I love dancing in clubs because of the loud music, louder than is ever civilized within one’s own home. I love the energy of the people. Most of the time I refuse drinks, even water, from strangers. Stranger danger 101.

Unless, that shadow side comes out. She is like, oh no no no, get the drinks. Get the random person…persons. Get that flailing and off you go. I think I fell four times slipping in alcohol that night, five inch high heels can be a long way down when you are used to being closer to the ground without such height. The bounce factor when you are drunk is impressive how resilient you seem.

Don’t bother telling your friends where you go. Just whisk off with these guys to some modern expensive apartment. Seven guys and one girl here? That seems logical. They continue to drink and I continue to pursue. The guy I was thirsting over was married, I think, I remember seeing a ring and yelling at him (I yell a lot when drunk, like a lot), and he gave evasive answers or no answers. I’ve noticed many best friend dynamics over the years, and it is interesting to me. This guy’s best friend had a foot fetish which I was unaware of until he came on my foot.

My pursuit of having sex with the I think he was married guy, did not happen. Instead, somehow the three of us ended up in a twin sized bed of the best friend in I think a guest room. There, they are both naked enough, and I am mostly naked. Here, I am making out with whom I am pursuing, and the best friend is watching. I end up giving a hand job to my pursuit, which was a cry of disappointment from my goal of sex. They were giggling and having the kind of intimacy over this situation that made me believe they do this often and have a routine. That the bond is with each other rather than the random girl of the night. I remember earlier in the night the best friend talking to me about a girl from Maxim magazine he knew while I sat on the lap of the pursuit and listened intently. I don’t remember if my pursuit came, but I imagine he would have. All I remember is it was so early in the morning, here we are, they are lying down and I am sitting up facing towards them, in-between. Ever so gently, the best friend takes my foot and just begins holding my foot while using his other hand to masturbate himself. Then he came. He came on my foot.

That was the first time someone had cum on my foot. I cleaned up, I left, with all the polite goodbyes. Never to see or speak to any of them again.

Writing all of this now, I wouldn’t be surprised if they have fucked each other to be honest.